This Trouble is Ours
by Shalla Bal
Summary: Charlie and Monroe set off on a journey to save Miles from the Patriots' clutches. Charlie tries to ignore or deny her attraction to Monroe, but what will happen when his own feelings become evident? Charloe! I don't own Revolution or these characters. By request, I've added an epilogue. It serves to set up the upcoming sequel. Hope you enjoy! :)
1. Chapter 1

Charlie Matheson shivered against the cold night air, cursing herself for setting off on yet another journey with the same flimsy, useless, spring-appropriate clothing that would do nothing to fortify her against the dangers of January in the wilderness. Ahead of her on the winding, hauntingly dark and otherwise abandoned path, Charlie watched Bass Monroe as he paused and waited for her to catch up. How had she ended up on yet _another_ mission with the man who was unquestionably her most hated adversary? Alone with him this time, which was the worst possible scenario she could have conjured. Charlie chafed at having to swallow past her hatred for Monroe, the nauseating horror he'd visited on her family, just to get from point A to B in their latest gambit against the Patriots. But it had to be done.

This time, those US pricks were holding Miles prisoner, doubtless intending to make an example of Charlie's uncle in a public execution. If there was one thing Charlie had to admit she shared with Monroe, it was that neither of them would let _that_ stand, not in a million years. They had to go and get Miles, and everyone else was busy - even Rachel, who'd tried to insist on going despite the fact that Grandpa was never gonna be able to hold the town together on his own.

Charlie had gritted her teeth through another of Rachel's futile lectures about teaming up with Monroe, how wrong it was, how dangerous it was to expose herself to that influence, that malevolent presence of his. The specter of evil who had taken Danny and Ben Matheson from this world. Charlie could see how the mere idea of Bass rendered Rachel an almost malfunctioning wreck who would become too consumed with righteous resentment to get the damn job done. So, anyway, Rachel had to stay, and Charlie had to go. What else was new?

Charlie frowned at the memory of her mother's implication that she would ever voluntarily spend time with Monroe, or that there was something in his ruthless, violent ways that could seduce her into becoming like him. Maybe Rachel didn't put much faith in her daughter's individuality, but to Charlie, that sense of _herself_ was all she had left in the world. She wasn't going to go throwing that away for anyone, least of all Monroe.

"Don't do me any favors," she snarked at Bass when she reached his side, her breath coming in slow heaves that billowed white in front of her, but her expression perfectly composed to convey her usual dry, tough, implacable insistence on appreciating _nothing _he did for her. As always, Charlie managed to weave in that extra touch of sarcastic, insulting attitude towards Monroe that seemed to get his back up every time. Sociopath that he was, Charlie hadn't thought Monroe capable of being so demonstrably annoyed by her little mind-games. It was a relief to know there was something she could do to make his life a little harder, something so simple as continuous, often silent disrespect that could easily be worked into the timetable of a long and demanding journey with few stops allotted.

"Charlotte, we have to stick together, you know that," Monroe breathed, irritated as Charlie knew he would be. "_We_ can't exactly rescue Miles if you show up a few days after I do." He looked at her in a cursory manner that suggested he didn't care about her at all, but contrasted that with his next words, "you're freezing."

"What do you care?" Charlie bit out predictably.

"What do _I_ care?" Monroe laughed harshly. "I don't want to carry a Charlie-sicle all the way to this prison camp. So how about you drop the sullen, bratty twenty-something routine you do so well, and take this?"

Monroe removed the wool-lined brown leather jacket he wore and thrust it in her direction. Charlie had to admit that this threw her for a loop.

"What about you?" She asked, as against her will, her curiosity knocked her hatred unconscious and found a voice. She despised herself for this, but when Monroe showed himself capable of even a small act of selflessness, she stopped and wondered if there was another side to him, something else he could care about besides war and blood and power and greed. _Of course not_, she chided herself.

"I'm fine." Monroe's stunning blue eyes bored into her with a momentary lapse in his own typically dismissive, know-it-all stance. Instead, he examined her with an interest and what almost seemed like...concern? Charlie couldn't put her finger on it and didn't want to. There was this horrible, disgusting suspicion that constantly lingered on the edge of her subconscious, threatening at any moment to break through to her full understanding.

It was the idea that there was some kind of repressed, but real, attraction flashing in Monroe's eyes when he looked at her. She felt it in his body language, the way he instinctively shielded her in battle. The way he'd saved her from those lunatics in the bar who had drugged her. When he came back for her in the battle at the school.

The sound of his voice when he called her Charlotte. Low, husky, and almost, she realized with a shiver of fear, enticing.

As she shrugged the jacket onto her shoulders, Charlie grimaced, fighting the mere idea back down with all her might. Monroe was incapable of feeling anything for her. He didn't feel. He just took, took all he could from others to try and fill some insatiable void within his own pathetic soul. And even if he did harbor some twisted attraction for her that had become tangled with deeper emotions too, what did Charlie care? She'd never return the sentiment. But then, of course, the entire thing was utterly impossible.

In some uncomfortably self-conscious moments of deep thought, Charlie started to really analyze why she'd started a sexual relationship with Connor, and damn, she had to switch off that line of thought almost instantly. She had to keep reminding herself that Connor was an attractive little hobby, and Monroe's shocked reaction had been nothing more than a bonus amusement. She'd never do anything intentionally to make Monroe jealous. It was all. Impossible.

"We'll have to make camp for the night soon," Bass spoke up after they battled through another of the long, silent pauses, heavy with unspoken and suppressed meaning, that so often took up the space between the two of them.

"Why can't we just keep moving?" Charlie asked, pulling her long hair out of the collar of Monroe's coat and sending it spilling around her shoulders in a shining halo. She felt his eyes on her again without even looking up. Charlie marched onward, crunching through the snow. She tried to be impervious to the insane notions that popped into the mind of a weary traveler and fighter like herself, with little time left in this world, most likely, to waste on such silly and destructive thoughts.

"How do you feel about starvation, Charlotte? Fainting from exhaustion? Never getting anywhere _near_ Miles because we both dropped dead standing here arguing? I don't think Miles'll be too grateful for that while he's being drawn and quartered or whatever, by those Patriot douches."

"Shut up," she sighed, "Fine, let's find a place to sleep." Charlie trudged alongside Monroe until they found a clearing by a frozen river, with some big trees overhead for decent cover in case it rained or snowed.

"Why don't you roll those sleeves up?" Monroe asked, batting at the excess material of his coat that flailed ridiculously past Charlie's fingertips. "You look like the world's poutiest double amputee."

"Don't touch me," Charlie snapped, stepping back from him and turning to unpack her sleeping bag, pathetic store of food, and some fire-building supplies.

"God, you are so _over the top_ all the time," Bass complained. "Don't you ever just wanna take a break from all the whining melodrama?"

Charlie noticed that his thin, cotton shirt was clinging, damp with the sweat of hours worth of travel in the bitter cold, to his muscular frame. Surely, that shirt must feel frozen to his skin, but he'd given her his coat. _Who cares_? Charlie reminded herself, scowling at him wordlessly.

When they'd gotten the fire going, Charlie was relieved to sink once more into silence, knowing that there was nothing more to do but gnaw on their dinner and roll over to go to sleep. She picked up a tiny, rock-hard, ugly-looking apple and took a big bite, not caring that it hurt her jaw and tasted basically like ass.

"Oh my god," Bass laughed, gesturing with the knife he was using to peel an orange. "That's the saddest apple I have ever seen."

"Where'd you get that orange?" Charlie smirked. "I bet you stole it from some ten year old you left maimed on the side of the road back home."

"I bought it in the market a few days ago," Monroe retorted, wise-ass as ever. "You know, Charlotte, that's where you can get edible food. There's probably dried up corpses of frostbitten worms in that apple."

"_Mmmm_," she couldn't help responding sassily, even though she knew she shouldn't participate in anything resembling a joke with Monroe.

"I bet," Monroe said, smiling in a genuine way that established a lighter, warmer mood between them Charlie begrudgingly longed to surrender to. She was tired. She was lonely. As lonely as a human could truly ever be in this woe-streaked, cavernous remnant of a world. And there was something about Monroe that drew her in, despite all the reasons why that should never be the case.

"Here, just take this," Monroe added, gesturing at her with a sizable piece of fresh, sweet-smelling orange in his palm. As her fingers brushed his hand to pluck it up and pop the fruit in her mouth, some insane spark seemed to flare between them, one it took all of Charlie's might to try and drown. What was _wrong _with her?

"What's with the charity routine?" Charlie asked. "I'm sure you hate being out here with me almost as much as I hate being around you. This" she gestured back and forth between them, the burst of flavor from the orange lingering annoyingly on her tongue. "This is just a means to an end. I don't need or want any help. Least of all from _your _sorry ass."

"I get that, Charlotte, I really do," Monroe replied, withdrawing his eyes and staring instead into the meager fire. "But if that's true, why do you keep taking me up on my help? You took my jacket, you took my food-"

Charlie stood up and started to rip the jacket off of herself. "Screw you," she growled, fully intending to make him choke on his words, and possibly his coat as well.

"Charlotte!" Bass reprimanded, obnoxiously authoritarian in such moments, "Stop it. Cut it out." He stood up too and tried to place the coat back around her shoulders. Charlie flinched at the feeling of his cold, strong fingers on her collarbone as he attempted this.

"Get away!" she screeched, really mad now.

"No!" Bass yelled back, anger evident in his own steely look. "Wear the jacket, Charlotte. You'll freeze!"

They tussled together, pathetic in their mutual insistence on getting their way, almost comically faux-violent as they fought over the coat's destiny. Finally, Charlie yanked the garment out of Monroe's grip, but the force of her theft threw her backwards onto the ground, with momentum and surprise catapulting Bass down on top of her.

Motionless, suspended in the absurd, inappropriate closeness between them, they automatically locked gazes. Charlie forgot who she was and where she was and _why _she was for about one millisecond longer than she could afford to. By the time he'd leaned down and brushed his lips against her own, his beard scraping her skin and his hot mouth contrasting sharply with the cold all around them, Charlie was hypnotized by the unfair, nonsensical cruelty of one simple fact. There was something in this man that drew out her darkest, most irrevocable desires. What was she going to do about it?


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie allowed herself the indulgence of letting Monroe's mouth stay fastened to her own just a little bit longer before she forced herself, with a gust of will she hated having to work so hard to summon, to stop this.

She saw what was happening now, and it both terrified and enraged her. Somehow, there was this perverted psycho living inside her that _wanted_ Monroe. A psycho who thought he could be _redeemed_. One who was undeniably sucked in by everything about Bass - the quick wit, the prowess he displayed in battle, the soul twisted by a terrible life that had turned him into an uncontrollable villain of epic proportions but still seemed tragic in the loss of itself. There was an undercurrent of sadness all too apparent about him, or maybe it was only apparent to Charlie. Some part of his wildness reflected her own; his vulnerability had opened her heart to him without her permission.

It was a side of Charlie that, most embarrassingly of all, was drawn to his physical presence and voluntarily drowned in his powerful blue eyes. No, that _wasn't_ the most embarrassing part, nor the worst. The most wretched aspect of her attraction to Monroe was that _she_ wanted to be the one to redeem him. Somewhere along the line, Charlie realized with a start, she'd gone completely out of her mind for this man, without understanding or accepting it until it was too late to hide her manifestation of it. She had let Monroe kiss her, his hard, strong body pinning her to the ground and unleashing a passion she had to keep fighting to smother. As it was, her lips had merely laid prone to his touch. But her mind, her heart, her soul, her desires...they told a different story.

"Get off of me," She snapped, trying not to get hysterical.

"Okay, there's no need to get hysterical, Charlie," Monroe said, breathing hard enough to betray the depth of his own inner struggle. "It was just a kiss." He released her immediately and stood up.

"Just a kiss?" Charlie repeated snarlingly. "You delusional, sick bastard. After everything you've done! Just -" she broke off, torn between too many emotions and inclinations to know which way to turn. She wanted to grab Monroe and cover him with kisses, feel his hands all over her. She wanted to kill him, too.

Finally, she resumed, glaring at his blank expression. "Just stay away from me. Don't ever do that again. We're here to do a damn job, and that's all." Filled with pride at her dismissal of him, which she knew was fully righteous, Charlie stalked off into the evening chill. Unfortunately, her grand escape was thwarted when she ran smack into a tower of a man holding a massive machete and regarding her with a malicious grin.

"Hello there," the thug smirked, and Charlie looked quickly around to determine that there were, indeed, at least three other thugs standing behind the first one. _Dammit!_

"Look," she reasoned, stepping back, "we don't have anything worth stealing, okay?"

One of the other creeps piped up, "We'll be the judge of that, sweetheart. And _you_ look well worth stealing to me, for one thing."

Charlie backed up again, trying to get to her weapons, and ended up bumping into Monroe, who'd arrived on the scene with swift precision. Bass held onto Charlie's upper arms protectively, getting all of her feelings bunched up in an excruciating knot even though that should have been the least of her worries right then.

"I suggest you leave," Monroe said in a voice of quiet menace that should have sent them running for the hills. But they had, of course, no idea who he was or what he was capable of.

"Or else _what_?" Charlie's first assailant asked with a demented expression. The blade of the thug's sword flicked out rapidly, pressing against Charlie's throat. "Think you can get your little girlfriend away before I kill her? The slightest movement right now, she's dead. So drop your weapons, chump."

"I have a particular aversion to being called a chump," Monroe retorted drily, dropping his various blades to one side. "Now let her go."

"I have a particular aversion to being called his girlfriend," Charlie groused as the thieves tied her hands and those of Monroe.

"Since you two are so close and all, I'd like to have a little fun," the main thug announced, stroking his chin. "Why don't you take a walk across the lake, honey?" He nodded at Charlie. "And for every question your man here _doesn't_ answer about who you two are and whether there's a reward out for you or anything, which there probably is, as squirrelly as you are..." Monroe flinched and began trying to break his restraints.

"For every question he doesn't answer, you can go three more paces across the ice. I sure hope that ice is frozen _solid,_" the creep continued. The other two thieves urged Charlie to the lake with their swords.

"Walk," one of them barked at her. She looked at Monroe and rolled her eyes, sarcastic and resolved to her own imminent doom as usual.

Charlie tried not to show her trepidation or shake with anxiety as her boot hit the slick ice.

"Who are you two?" The main thief asked Monroe, enjoying the show immensely.

"I'm Clyde, and this is my girl Bonnie," Monroe replied. Charlie wouldn't have wanted him to tell the truth anyway, and he knew it.

"Three paces," One of the thugs by the lake ordered Charlie, pointing Monroe's sword at her threateningly. Charlie moved backwards slowly and cautiously.

"Stop it," Monroe spat, rage illuminating his features in the low firelight. "You will all die horrible deaths _very_ shortly."

He stared across the frozen water at Charlie, their eyes acknowledging mutual fear, as well as the wheels turning in their heads trying to find a way out of this predicament.

Finally, Monroe managed to wrest his hands free, and with lightening speed he had the boss thief's machete and had sliced his way through the brigands with merciless abandon. Charlie stood blinking on the ice, then looked down at her feet to consider how to begin making her way back. Her eyes widened when she saw the transparent coating of ice that barely glazed the treacherous water below. "Bass-" she started to say, but within a second she had broken through and plunged underwater, the unimaginably cold water searing painfully, filling her ears and causing a blinding pain to shoot through her whole body. Charlie could tell, as she tried to move upward against the surprising weight of the water, that she was close to losing consciousness from sheer shock.

Charlie threw every ounce of her acumen into thrusting upward and keeping herself awake, but soon all she could see or feel was the intense memory of Monroe's icy blue gaze, and as a new chill racked her body, she passed out altogether.


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie's fogged mind sluggishly made its way back to consciousness as her entire body screamed in frozen pain. She moaned and blinked, slowly noticing that she was lying gently draped across a worn, woolen blanket that barely masked the hard, cold ground beneath it. Monroe hovered above her, using a second blanket to hurriedly dry off her hair. Charlie watched him in her confused state, almost as if she were in a trance or outside her own body, losing the inhibitions that normally divided them. He was trying to save her, she realized.

Not yet seeing that she was waking up, Monroe proceeded to pull off her boots and socks, tossing them aside. When he reached for the button of her pants, Charlie gasped instinctively and mumbled incoherently. Monroe's blazing eyes cut upwards, appraising her awake state and her objection in one fell swoop.

"Shut up," he retorted to her meaningless blob of attempted words. "I have to get these clothes off of you or you'll freeze to death." Charlie felt the truth of his statement as he peeled her pants off and every inch of fabric felt as if it were dry ice trying to pull her skin off along the way. Continuing to move as quickly and efficiently as he could while still putting more care into his motions than she would have dreamed possible, he pulled her t-shirt over her head. Her arms flailed upward, helpless, like a rag doll, allowing him to undress her with a numb mix of shocked emotions she couldn't begin to separate or understand. Now that she was down to her bra and underwear, Monroe lifted her and slid her into her sleeping bag, running his hands up and down her body outside the material to warm her. "How do you feel?" he finally asked, just barely suppressing what looked like real panic.

"Mfine," Charlie managed, almost swallowing her tongue with the effort, trying to soak up the heat of the sleeping bag that covered her almost-bare body. It wasn't enough; she couldn't feel any warmth from the admittedly old and ratty fabric. Then she noticed that Monroe was soaking wet too, which made sense, as he must have dived in to rescue her. "You?" she asked cautiously, pleased at getting a whole, real word out.

Monroe stopped to take note of his own problems then, pulling off his shirt to reveal that ridiculously perfect physique she tried so hard not to notice...or fantasize about. Right now, she had no shame, letting her eyes linger on him with undisguised curiosity. "Come on," Charlie murmured, lifting one heavy arm to vaguely indicate turning down the sleeping bag so that he could join her for warmth's sake.

Monroe had no hesitation; he got down to his underwear too and climbed in beside her, pulling her gently but firmly against him. Charlie let out a seemingly endless sigh of relief. He wasn't anywhere near as cold as she was, because he'd been in the water so briefly. Almost immediately, the press of their bodies provided a comforting abate of the clammy, icy sensation. She laid her head against his heart and listened to the rapid but steady thud.

"Charlie?" Monroe whispered.

"Hmm?" she replied, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling closer.

"I think you should try and stay awake for a while," he suggested. "Until you feel better."

"Mmkay," Charlie acquiesced, closing her eyes and sinking into her sleepiness.

"Charlotte," Monroe chided, "I'm serious."

"Fine. Entertainme," she muttered, pulling back slightly to look back at him. He was shivering, holding her tightly while staring at her with a deeply analytical and highly confused expression. To whatever extent Charlie could ever fathom Monroe's mind, she imagined he might be shocked that she had so easily allowed him to be near her like this, so scantily clad. But between the desperate craving to survive and the way her condition had knocked down the walls she'd so carefully constructed between them, there was no way Charlie could have even pretended to resist this chance. She was stripped down to her most simple and desperate desires: to live, and to be with Monroe. The fierceness of these instincts spurred her on as she blinked hard, battling back against exhaustion.

"I don't know what to say," Monroe admitted strangely. That was a first. Charlie chuckled.

"Charlie," Monroe started again, "I'm having a hard time here."

"That's okay," Charlie assured him, nodding downward to acknowledge that she'd noticed.

"No," Monroe said with a jolt. "That's not what I meant." If he could have blushed, Charlie thought he would have right then. She'd never seen Bass Monroe so incredibly awkward and even embarrassed. He was acting like an actual human being.

"Then what?" she asked, confrontational.

"Then..." he trailed off, letting his thumbs stroke her arms. "I. Dammit, I can't do this."

"What?"

"_Explain_ myself to you. You and me, Charlotte, we're two people stuck in the worst, most laughably insane mess anyone ever got into."

"I know," she agreed quietly, letting her forehead rest against his chest, feeling his chin slide against her hair, noticing the low sigh he let out, relaxing into her as much as he could.

"For a while now, Charlie...I've been feeling a certain way about you. Once it started, I couldn't stop it."

"Are you sure?" Charlie asked, the seriousness of his words leading her to a sharper awareness. "Cause you have plenty of other things to worry about, right? Like getting your _republic_ back?" The hatred she put into the word "republic" made Monroe flinch.

"I haven't cared about that in a long time," Bass admitted. "I was just holding onto that idea so that I could lie to myself about why I'm really in this fight. I even goaded Miles extra hard about fighting for you and Rachel, just to make myself feel better about how my own priorities had gotten royally screwed up. I'm fighting for you now. Of course, the idea of the republic also gave me an in with Connor. I had nothing else to make him want to spend quality time with me."

"Connor," Charlie repeated, feeling the heavy meaning of the word.

"When you ever slept with my kid, I..." Monroe's heart beat even faster as memories of rage, disappointment, and jealousy filled him demonstrably. "Charlie, that's when I knew I was done for. I couldn't stand to see you together. By the way, that was a really sick, demented thing to do to me. That's my son. Who I haven't even gotten a chance to know-"

"Please," Charlie chuckled again, softly, "don't expect me to apologize for making you suffer. What you did to me...and what you've been doing to me _lately_...there's a price for that." She let him think about that for a minute. He was responsible for Ben's death, and for Danny's. He'd ripped her family apart at the seams. Then they'd fallen for each other among the debris of the end of the world, against her will and everything she stood for. It wasn't fair and it couldn't be forgiven.

"That's the worst part," Bass said with a savage heave of emotion. "I ruined your life. And when _my _life was ruined, when I lost_ my _family, and then my first chance at my own family...I didn't want to feel the pain, so I just gave into the darkness without a second thought. I let myself become this monster. When you lost your family, when I _took_ them from you, you became this hero. Now you're making me wake up to myself and it's too late to do anything to fix it."

"There was a time," Charlie replied, "When I'd have never believed a word of that speech. I thought you were incapable of feeling anything for anyone, or feeling guilt for what you did."

"And now?" he whispered intensely.

"Now I'm sick and disoriented, but I know you can't make up for any of it," Charlie said. "You're a son of a bitch and my family, what's left of it, will hate you forever. But that doesn't change..." She looked up at him, shifting bizarrely from dark thoughts to an almost shy need to connect her softer feelings with his own.

"It doesn't change what?" Monroe asked, his voice faltering with hope.

Charlie pressed her mouth against his and closed her eyes, letting go the rest of the way and surrendering to his instant reciprocation, his mouth so delectably relentless in its assault, first gentle and tender, and then increasingly insistent, demanding.

Monroe's hands trailed enticingly down the length of her body, grazing her breasts, then her stomach, taking hold of her thigh as their kisses grew ever hotter. Finally, he drew back, taking her face in his hands and staring down into her eyes searchingly.

"How do you feel now?" he finally asked. It ought to have been a funny, teasing question, but Charlie could tell he was serious.

"You know how I feel," Charlie said with the utmost gravity, somewhere between glaring at him and straddling him. The urgency between them, the potent and unbearable blend of terrifying emotions, grew ever more powerful.

Bass nodded and swallowed. "Let's call it a draw. I think we should go to sleep."

"Because I'm sick?" Charlie asked.

"Because you might not be in this mood in the morning, and if we go any further you'll probably kill me tomorrow." He removed his hands from her more provocative areas and placed them around her waist. "It's not even like you need a new reason to kill me."

"No," she agreed, closing her eyes against the restless simplicity of the word. There was absolutely no solution to the situation they were in. She couldn't absolve him or help loving him amidst her hatred of him. Her biggest fear was that the love would eventually just obscure the hate until it faded altogether, and then what would become of her? She couldn't let herself be so easily seduced by the devil. But wasn't that exactly what was happening, despite her best efforts?

"What if I could be better?" Monroe murmured. "If I really tried?"

Charlie didn't answer, knowing that in everything that had already changed since he began to love her, his old, better self had already started to come back steadily enough. But what good was that going to do anyone at this point?

Laying her head back against his chest and breathing him in, Charlie just whispered, "go to sleep."

They still had a mission. Miles' life was on the line and they'd gotten sidetracked by peril and this unexpected tangent into a dark fantasy, but tomorrow, reality would return. And Charlie honestly had no idea how she was going to deal with the aftermath of all they had discovered this night, but she knew for sure it had to wait until after Miles was safe. _If they even lived that long_, she considered with bitter irony.

"Goodnight, Charlotte," Monroe said with such emotion that Charlie felt herself inevitably sink further into his arms, and finally, a well-earned and profound sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, Charlie was already up, dressed, and munching on some trail mix by the time Monroe's head popped up from the sleeping bag where she'd left him.

"Are those clothes even dry yet?" he asked, squinting over at her with an air of confusion as to where they should even start after the previous night's revelations.

"Dry enough," Charlie replied quietly, looking down at the small fire she'd managed to draw forth. Her eyes couldn't help flickering upward, but she couldn't deal with what she saw. A shirtless Monroe, staring soulfully at her from the ground, was a more serious problem than she was equipped to solve right now.

"Don't," she told him, grabbing his clothes and tossing them to him. Monroe felt the material, determining that they were just barely wearable again, and began pulling them back on as Charlie averted her eyes again.

"Don't what?" Monroe asked, yanking his pants on rapidly and striding over to sit beside her. Charlie's arm shot out with the trail mix, which he waved off, distracted.

"We have to go get Miles," Charlie reminded him. "Whatever this is-" she gestured back and forth between herself and Bass - "this is too big to analyze right now. So let's keep moving and deal with it afterwards."

"Okay," Monroe agreed. "By the way, it's not like I forgot Miles was in Patriot clutches, Charlotte. I'm in love; I don't have amnesia."

Charlie smacked him in the arm, trying to ignore the appealing firmness she felt there and how her heart jumped when he said he loved her. "Stop it."

"I'm not gonna forget just because you're putting the issue on hold," Bass announced, standing and offering her a hand to help her get up. Begrudgingly, given she wasn't really back to full strength, Charlie accepted it. "Let's go," Monroe added, slinging the controversial coat back around her shoulders. She couldn't suppress an ironic smile.

Charlie felt frustrated at herself that she'd allowed this warm glow of flirtation to hover between them, since she ought to be continuing to fight back her feelings with everything she had. But convincing herself out of love with Bass Monroe was a gargantuan task that simply had to be sidelined.

They had to walk all day before they reached the Patriot prison camp, a typically organized pop-up village with numerous armed guards. "This should be fun," Monroe murmured, following Charlie down to the front gates.

When the gate opened and a surly guard peered at them, Charlie piped up, "Hey there, I'm Charlotte Matheson, niece and cohort of Miles Matheson. This is Bass Monroe, the...oh, you know who he is," she smirked.

Quickly bound and dragged through the camp towards the jailing quarters, they were grateful that the guards hadn't discovered the small vial of liquid hidden in Charlie's inner jacket pocket.

"Guys, seriously?" Miles groaned when he saw Charlie and Bass being flung into a neighboring cell. "Seriously?"

"Relax, Miles, we have a plan," Monroe said smoothly. "Nice to see you too, by the way."

"You're such a douche," Miles replied poignantly. "Charlie, are you okay?"

"Same old me," Charlie lied. "When do you wanna do this thing?" she asked, turning to Bass.

"Morning," he suggested. "They'll be less guarded first thing."

"Based on what?" Charlie asked. "I say we do this now. Why wait?"

"Why did you ask me, then?" Monroe questioned, rubbing his forehead.

"God, you two argue like an old married couple. What's going on, anyway?" Miles demanded, irritated.

Charlie and Bass exchanged an intense look as they processed Miles' words. Had he sensed something between them?

"Guys?" Miles said, snapping his fingers impatiently. "What's the plan?"

"Take the guards out with this sedative Grandpa gave us," Charlie filled him in, showing the vial. "They just have to smell it."

"Right, so when they come around to check us in the morning-" Bass began, but they were interrupted by a guard's approach.

"You're wanted for questioning, both of you," the guard said to Charlie and Monroe.

"Delightful," Charlie enthused sarcastically. As the Patriot opened the cell and pulled her out by her elbow, Monroe swiftly kicked him in the gut, grabbed the vial from Charlie's pocket, and jammed it up the guard's nostril.

"I thought you wanted to wait," Charlie observed, raising one eyebrow at Monroe's tempestuous reaction to the guard's rough treatment of her. She'd be lying if she said she didn't like it. Seeing this now constant evidence of Monroe's feelings for her was exhilarating even in its total wrongness and despite the danger of his unpredictability.

"Changed my mind," Monroe stated casually, fishing the keys out of the Patriot's pocket and releasing Miles. "Let's go."

"No argument here," Miles said, his intelligent gaze momentarily locked on Charlie and Monroe in a way that made her suspect that Miles was, at least on some level, noticing the change that had happened in his absence. Dammit.

This was going to be not only hard, but impossible. It was all. Impossible. How could Charlie ever even try to explain her relationship, whatever it was, with Monroe to Miles...not to mention her mother, which was a topic she flinched at the mere thought of. Charlie had all the dynamite to hurt each of them, including Bass if she backed out of their quasi-romance now. The immensity of all that was such that poor Connor seemed like an afterthought even though he wasn't. That was a huge problem as well.

Trapped, self-hating, finally free, infused with the irrefutable magic of love, Charlie was a complete and total mess. But she hid it well.

As they fought their way through the unfortunate remainder of guards blocking their path, Charlie noticed how she and Monroe were becoming partners in battle, a well-oiled machine that was nearly unstoppable. Miles seemed to be off in his own universe somewhere, so linked and synchronized, with effortless flow, were Charlie and Monroe's motions. She noted with wonderment how the least little release of her inhibitions about loving Bass had allowed them to instantly turn into this impeccable team, like it was their destiny. It thrilled her with a fear that tore through her painfully. Was there no turning back from this insane thing between them now that they'd come even this far?

Mounting three stolen Patriot horses, the trio rode quickly away, chased by more Patriots whom they evaded with the aid of some stolen firearms. Once they had enough distance between them and the camp to know they were safe for now, Miles pulled his steed to a holt and cocked his head to one side, observing Charlie and Monroe with interest. "That wasn't a totally horrible rescue," Miles granted them. "Are you both coming back to Willoughby?"

Monroe made a joking "whip" sound at the implication that Miles had to rush right back to Rachel. "Pot, meet kettle," Charlie whispered mockingly, close enough to Bass that only he heard, as he acknowledged with an annoyed grimace.

"I guess," Charlie agreed. What else could they do? She wished both that Monroe would go somewhere far away so that she could be free of him forever...and that he would take her with him so that she could be enveloped in their love without consequence.

That night, they made camp in a cosy little wooded enclave, a spot Charlie wished they had noticed on the journey to the prison, since it was ideal for grabbing some furtive slumber. Miles rapidly ate his way through most of the rest of the rations, starved from his recent ordeal and the disgusting prison food he'd rejected. Even Charlie's sad collection of edible sundries was preferable to Patriot slop, Miles pointed out thankfully. Almost as soon as he'd swallowed the last morsel and washed it down with some of Bass' whiskey, Miles was deep in a coma-like sleep, snoring endearingly.

Charlie and Monroe crept off to be alone, quiet and contemplative. "I never thought things could be so different between us," Charlie observed when they had walked far enough to ensure their solitude.

"Me neither. I never thought I could be so different. You bring it out in me, Charlotte. All the good in me I tried to kill over the years. I thought it was gone forever." Monroe's blue eyes flashed with the depth of his emotion.

Charlie shook her head. "I want to believe you, but those are just words. You have to do what you said last night. You need to try to be better. Even that doesn't erase the massive problem of everything you've already done and the way absolutely everyone would stand in the way of our being together...maybe including me. But it's a start."

Monroe kissed her tenderly and pressed his forehead against hers. "I'll try. Now what?"

"Now?" Charlie asked, taking his hand and leading him back to where Miles slept, "Let's go home."


	5. Chapter 5

Charlie squinted at the bright winter sun that eclipsed her view of Rachel, who was standing out in front of Grandpa's house to welcome her and Miles back to Willoughby. She climbed down from the horse and followed Miles over to give Rachel a hug. They began to fill each other in on the basics of what had happened since they'd parted. _Really _basic, Charlie thought, noting Monroe standing off to one side, detached as ever from such proceedings.

As Charlie's mother warmly embraced her and whispered that she was glad her daughter was safe, a chill went through Charlie. How could she betray her mother as she was doing right now in her heart, just by loving the man who was to blame for Danny's death? _Oh, is that all?_ Charlie thought bitterly. But this pain still didn't wipe out those terrible feelings for Monroe that had caused her turmoil. It didn't stop her from thinking of him and longing to be with him even now.

_Not even close_.

"You look really pretty," Miles grinned at Rachel. "What's with the dress?"

"It's a long story, but...there's a dance in town tonight. Willoughby's attempt to continue the pretense of being a real community, despite everything. It seemed like a good idea to encourage that, so me and Dad are helping out," Rachel explained, flicking a lock of curly blonde hair behind one ear. The skirt of her simple blue dress blew about in the wind, making Charlie wonder how it had taken her so long to notice her mother's strange and lovely attire.

"Hi guys," Gene said, coming out front. "Charlie, did your mom tell you what she got for you?"

"You have a dress, too," Rachel said with a shy smile that revealed her desire to connect with her daughter.

"I'd like to see this dress," Monroe whispered sexily in Charlie's ear. Blushing, angry, turned on by Bass, and disguising the impetuous smile that came with that as gratitude to her mother, Charlie nodded.

"Let's see," Charlie suggested, giving her grandfather a hug. Gene looked clean-cut and put together, and she breathed a sigh of relief at seeing him like that, as grizzled and haggard as his recent illness had lain him when she'd left town. He'd been through too much, like all of them.

Charlie followed Rachel inside to the bedroom, where a pale green dress lay waiting. Holding the frock up to her chest, Charlie couldn't help admiring the way the skirt hovered above her knees, frothy and lined in a subtle glitter of a darker green. It had gauzy layers to it, this deceptively low-key-seeming confection of a dress, and was quite beyond anything she'd ever worn before, not that Charlie had ever been much of a dress girl.

"You should get ready," Rachel encouraged. "Dad and I are going to set up the refreshments."

"Mom? Why are you so into this?" Charlie asked, sitting down to remove her boots.

"I think it will do us all good to get away from our problems for a night and just have fun," Rachel replied with that low level of cheerfulness that was pretty much her height of excitement these days.

"Alright," Charlie acquiesced. She took a quick bath and then slipped into the dress, the stiff, formal material adhering to her upper body before flouncing beguilingly at the waist. Once Charlie tried on the matching high heeled shoes, she wasn't sure she would be able to stay upright all night. The thankfully thick, clear stockings clung tightly to her upper thighs. Who had come up with the location for this event, in the winter, in the dusty town square, anyway?

"You look beautiful," Rachel breathed upon reentering, and she quickly set to helping Charlie pin up her hair at the sides with green-jeweled clips.

"Where did all this fancy stuff even come from?" Charlie couldn't help wondering.

"The local boutique owner, Joan, was really excited to be able to bring some fashion to the townspeople again," Rachel elaborated. "Her life's been..._really_ boring since the blackout. She loaned us out a lot of clothes for the night."

"Great," Charlie managed, showing appreciation for Rachel's attempts to create a pleasant evening for everyone. In reality, with all that was going on in her heart and mind, plus the unusual discomfort of being dressed up, Charlie already felt like going to bed instead of to the dance, and sleeping for about a year.

Once Charlie arrived at the party and began helping to set up the punchbowls and modest hors d'oeuvres, she had to admit that it was really stunning out there under a black sky spread wide with glittering stars. A large bonfire on one side cut the chilliness in the air and crackled invitingly. A small band was setting up in a makeshift gazebo that had been constructed for the occasion. And folks were starting to arrive, dressed to the nines and looking thrilled at the chance to act like real human beings for a night, instead of depressed survivors constantly looking over their shoulder for the next catastrophe to occur.

Once the band struck up, everyone started to dance, chattering loudly, drinks held in one hand as they spun haphazardly. Kids ran in circles, holding hands, stuffing their faces with fruit and cheese. And Connor appeared at Charlie's elbow, looking nice in a blue shirt and black vest with black dress pants. "Can I have this dance?" he smiled. Charlie took his hand reluctantly.

"I don't really dance," she explained.

"Does anyone here look like they really dance?" Connor asked blithely. Charlie had to admit, it was impressive enough that none of the awkward couples had yet collided.

As she placed her hands rather chastely on Connor's shoulders and circled monotonously with him, Charlie noticed all of his charms anew. Connor was naive, sure, but he was gorgeous, smart, and skilled in battle. Yet when she looked at him now, all Charlie saw was what might have made her happy in some other life, maybe one where she was a better person, or more innocent, less craven and addicted to what she shouldn't want or need. But even on that train of thought, Charlie really knew that every single theoretical, alternate universe version of herself would probably fall just as far and fast in love with Bass Monroe as she had.

The song ended and they stepped back from each other. Connor looked at her as if trying to guess her thoughts. The kid had never really been able to figure her out, Charlie mused regretfully. "Want some punch?" he finally asked. She nodded gratefully.

As he walked away, Charlie's eyes helplessly searched the crowd, though why the person she sought would ever be caught dead at an affair like this was beyond her. However, to her shock, she saw Monroe standing on the other side of the dance area, looking directly at her. No other man present could even approach the level of startling handsomeness that Bass embodied in a pair of crisp beige pants and a white shirt with the first two buttons left undone. Charlie's fingers itched to unbutton the others, to run themselves through his hair and then travel all over his body. Every instinct she had itched to be alone with Monroe and unleash the desperate heat that flooded her system right then. Her mouth opened slightly, and she felt his eyes survey her appearance in the dress, undisguised desire igniting in his own expression, along with an impressed, admiring look that was so uncharacteristically sweet that it undid her further.

He approached her, right then and there, with these urges and emotions washing shamelessly over and between them, and Charlie knew she should warn him off, that this was not an appropriate moment for this particular setting, with her family and friends a stone's throw away. But she was frozen in time, letting fate happen to her for the first time in her life, not fighting against the tide.

Connor got to her first, placing the cup of punch in her open hand. Charlie took a huge gulp to calm her nerves and almost choked. "That's really, _really _spiked," she spluttered as Connor laughed.

"Yup, thank your uncle Miles for that. None of the kids are allowed to drink from that bowl," Connor explained. Charlie couldn't help laughing nervously as the world went about its natural flow of hilarity and hijinks around her.

"What are you doing here?" Connor asked with his usual air of disdain towards Monroe, despite the emulation and affection Charlie knew he really felt.

"Nice to see you too, son," Bass replied, nonplussed. "Charlotte," he said with a nod in her direction, his eyes still all over her. He was torturing her, and Charlie didn't know how much more she could take. It felt like every eye in the world was on her, about to discern her darkest secrets.

"I have to get some more food to put out," Charlie said to neither of them in particular. "These kids were famished." She turned on her wobbly heels and did her best not to actually bolt indoors, holding her remarkably warm and comfortable fur shrug around herself resolutely.

Once inside, Charlie grabbed a glass of water and chugged it, then dabbed her forehead with some of the cold liquid, hoping to lower her feverish energy level and slow her pounding heart. She turned to the food and considered what to bring back out with her.

"Nervous?" Monroe's voice piped up behind her. She turned to see him standing there, leaning casually against the doorframe, regarding her with great interest.

"No, of course not," Charlie replied automatically, the very emotion she denied helping the words flow sarcastically from her lips with alarming fluidity, "Why would I be nervous? This is a totally normal situation, right? I should be comfortable with you eye-screwing me across a crowded room of my nearest and dearest, right?"

"Honestly, by our standards, I think this is just another night, Charlotte," Monroe answered, getting closer. "I bet we could improve it right now, though."

"You're crazy," Charlie said rather obviously, feeling his arms circle her waist with smooth ease as he drew her to his warm, hard, irresistible body. His mouth was on hers faster than her mind could work to note the insanity of their doing this here, now. Again, she was swept away by an uncontrollable passion she could never have anticipated. She gasped as his mouth moved down to her neck and exposed shoulders, his beard creating an enticing friction. Her fingers tangled in his hair the way they'd longed to all night. Bass lifted her and sat her on the tabletop as her legs enclosed his waist automatically.

"Have I told you how _unbelievable_ you look in that dress?" Monroe breathed against her ear, and then she grasped his collar, kissing his mouth without the slightest pretense of common sense or fear of consequence. It turned out that the burning hot danger of that moment was exactly what it seemed to be, and Charlie found that out as soon as she heard Miles clear his throat behind them.

They turned to see her uncle and Rachel standing in the doorway, her mother's face registering a numbing level of horror as Miles grimaced.

"Mom," Charlie began ridiculously, but Rachel just waved her off, covering her mouth and smothering a sob that sounded just as angry as it was disappointed and grieved.

She turned and walked briskly away, her blue shawl slipping from her shoulders in her hurry to leave her daughter in the dust.

That left Charlie and Bass staring at Miles, who looked more distinctly annoyed than Charlie had ever seen him, which was really saying something.

"Guys," he began, "_Awkward_."

Miles' instinctive use of defensive humor, while all too appropriate to the absurd occasion and the loss of all sanity exhibited by Charlie and Bass' conduct, clearly masked his darker emotions. He strode over and grabbed Monroe by the shirt, punching him directly in the face with all his might.

"God, man," Monroe grumbled on the ground, blood flowing from his nose.

"Shut up," Miles spat. "You're lucky I don't kill you here and now. But I _expect _this from you. I expect you to be selfish and thoughtless and cruel, though this is definitely a new low. Congrats."

"Thanks a lot," Bass replied, sitting up and pressing his hands into his closed eyes, out of breath from the force of Miles' blow.

"But _you_, Charlie?" Miles said intensely, turning to his niece with an exasperated and genuinely hurt look. "What were you _thinking_? Have you lost your mind? You know what he is, what he's done, what he _does_. I blame myself, actually, for letting him anywhere near you. I should've seen it coming. I _knew_ something was different between you two when you came to get me. I just didn't want to believe it. That's the last time I ignore my instincts about this stuff," he continued to monologue.

"I know how it seems," Charlie replied, tears springing painfully into her eyes as she fought to keep her voice level, unwilling to let go her last shred of decency. "But you don't understand what's really going on here."

"I love her, Miles," Monroe said pleadingly, leaning heavily on the table as he stood back up. "She's changing me. She's saving me." His voice and look were so heart-wrenchingly honest and vulnerable that he seemed like a different person.

"You don't get to be saved," Miles retorted bitterly. "Least of all by her. I'll give you two options, Bass - leave town, or I'll make you wish you had."

"Come on, Miles," Bass pleaded. "You're not even listening to us. I wish I could undo all the stupid things I did, and the misery I put on all of you. But I can't, and we can't help loving each other. Anyway, you need me to fight the Patriots. Charlie and me are stronger than ever together."

"I'm not listening to you because I don't listen to complete bullshit," Miles answered, turning to leave. "Charlie, I suggest you start thinking about your mother and try to get some of your sense back. Before it's too late."

Then it was just them again, and Charlie shivered, wondering distantly where her shrug had landed during her encounter with Monroe before all hell had broken loose.

Wordlessly, she retrieved it from the corner of the room and put it back on, taking up a napkin from the table to dab Monroe's nose. "Well, that went about as splendidly as I thought it would," she reasoned.

"I'm sorry, Charlie," Monroe said seriously, gripping her other hand tightly.

"I know you are," she whispered, tipping his chin up slightly to lessen the flow of blood.

"What the hell?" Connor demanded, striding in with an infuriated demeanor.

"Oh come _on_," Bass complained. "I think we've had enough of this for one night."

"You- and _my father_?" Connor shouted at Charlie. Undisguised loathing painted his features.

Charlie rolled her eyes. She knew she'd done terrible things, that she had only slept with Connor to try and prevent herself from ever being with Monroe, and to make him jealous, which made no logical sense and was something she had lied to herself about for far too long. She realized that she'd allowed Connor to develop real feelings for her, knowing she would never return them. But at the same time, she'd never promised him anything or even_ vaguely _indicated that she wanted a relationship with him. Sleeping with the son of the man she was trying not to love was fairly twisted, but as usual, sadly for him, Connor was the least of her worries. He needed to get over this, get over her, and go find some nice girl that would appreciate him more than Charlie ever could.

"I'm sorry, Connor," Charlie said simply, truthful but dismissive. "Goodnight." She walked past him and prepared to leave as Connor turned on Bass.

"I'll kill you," Connor began, but Monroe cut him off at the pass.

"Miles already said that, kid. This is feeling like a tired rerun. I told you not to hook up with her, and now you know why. End of story. I'm sorry too." He clapped his son on the shoulder with an air of sincere apology mixed with total exhaustion.

"You're both out of your damn minds," Connor shook his head in disbelief, storming out.

"He'll get over it," Bass suggested, joining Charlie out on the porch.

"Probably," Charlie pondered, drawing the word out as she considered the matter. All in all, Monroe was probably right. But as for Miles and Rachel? Every bit of trouble she'd invited with her surrender into loving Monroe was crumbling down around her, poisonous and thick with tragedy. And her mother and uncle embodied her worst fears in that regard. That she herself had become irretrievably lost, isolated from her better self, the strong and independent woman with a powerful moral compass and no mercy for former lunatic military dictators, reformed or otherwise.

Yet even now, her eyes a bit dazed as they took in the merry townsfolk still dancing the night away, oblivious to her struggles, she knew one thing for sure, and it was something she guessed Miles and Rachel would never understand. Well, maybe one day her uncle would get it, based on his lifelong friendship with Monroe, a bond that admitted room for the clarity to know what she did.

Charlie knew that despite every reason why it shouldn't be so, the feelings between herself and Monroe were right, they were meant to be, and they would ultimately save both of them from themselves. She could protect Bass from his demons, and he would stop her from sinking into a stingingly melancholy existence, wandering through the post-apocalyptic wilderness certain that any moment might be her last, and what would it matter if it were? Now she had a reason to live, and a need to fight every day for that reason, that love. He'd restored her heart to her just as she'd done the same for him. She could feel that and _still_ be that independent, strong, good person she always had been. It was all bound up together.

She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. In the distance, she could see her grandfather chatting with some of the children, unaware of the controversial semi-embrace with Monroe which she'd allowed herself in this public place. "What now?" she asked Monroe languorously.

"Come with me," he answered as if the response came automatically, grasping her hand and leading her away from the party, off into the mysterious and inviting darkness of the night.


	6. Chapter 6

Charlie clasped Monroe's waist tightly with both hands as they rode off on his horse..._somewhere_, she didn't know or care where. She'd left the whole entirety of the rest of her life so far behind now that she'd never been more completely alone with another person as she was with Bass. And that was just fine with her. Maybe she'd wake up in the morning ravaged by the emotional hangover of her mother's reaction to seeing her in Monroe's arms. But even that consequence wasn't enough to make Charlie turn back.

It turned out that they weren't going far, just to the other end of town, where Monroe had a tiny and little-used house to crash in when in Willoughby. The rent was cheap and it was isolated, so Charlie could see the appeal of it to someone so willfully separated from the rest of society. Monroe pulled up in front of the house, dismounted, and held his arms out for Charlie to descend into. She grinned at the unnecessary gentleman's gesture, sliding right into his grip like a hand into a glove. The notable contrast in how she reacted to his help now was enough to make him smile widely in return and give a short laugh at the memory of the many times she'd hatefully rebuffed him for attempting to assist her in any way. The two most self-sufficient and prideful people in the world had somehow become the world to each other. It was dizzying, Charlie thought.

They still hadn't spoken since abandoning the town dance, and remained silent as they walked inside. Bass got the fireplace going and slid his boots off, regarding Charlie thoughtfully. She sat down behind him, the staring contest starting to rival the slow burn of the fire behind them. Monroe took one of her feet in his lap and started to undo the strap of her shoe.

"You don't have to do everything for me, you know," Charlie smiled intently, watching his minute and sensually charged movements as he went on to take the other shoe off.

"Why, are there some things you want to do for me, Charlotte?" Monroe asked huskily.

"Maybe," she answered, and the shock of their finally being in this situation after so much denied, protracted longing made the word come out in a hoarse whisper.

"I think this could be a mutually beneficial arrangement," Bass suggested, running his hand slowly and deliberately up her leg until he found the top of her stocking, his thumb hooking it easily and pulling it off. It was all Charlie could do to hold herself together as he removed the other stocking with similar care, then urged her towards him on the bench where they sat. The position was precarious now, with Charlie's thighs raised and encircled around Monroe, one of his hands holding her behind the knee and the other inching further and further upward beneath her skirt. Precarious indeed.

"I'm glad you like the dress," Charlie murmured.

"You're about to find out exactly how much I like this dress," Monroe assured her, taking the hand from her leg and starting to unhook the snugly corseted garment in the back. His other hand was busying itself in unraveling Charlie herself from inside, to the extent that her head fell backwards and her eyes almost rolled up in her head. He touched the back of her neck and moved his hand to cradle her head, gathering locks of her luxurious hair as he forced her to look him in the eye.

Charlie moaned and kissed him with a frenzied abandon that Bass met in kind, seizing her lips until her mouth felt bruised, swollen...still dying of starvation for him. Her need to be with Monroe was growing instead of being satiated by their culmination, and her head spun as she let out another, louder moan.

Bass lifted her effortlessly and carried her to his bed, where they crashed haphazardly. Charlie tried to get her breath back, kneeling before him and unbuttoning his shirt. "You don't clean up so bad yourself," she complimented, untucking the shirt and pulling it from his body with a satisfied gesture. No one should ever look as good as he did, she mused euphorically.

"Yeah, but maybe I should have shaved," Bass suggested with a smirk, resuming his favorite habit of smothering her body in rough kisses, tugging her dress down from her chest until it was all the way off, and he placed it affectionately to one side. As his lips trailed down her stomach, Charlie's back arched and she dug her nails into his back, which Monroe responded to with a groan that made her smile.

"No," Charlie answered his question, running her hand over his face as his fierce, almost florescent blue eyes linked with her more lightly shaded azure gaze. "You're not allowed to get rid of the beard."

"I thought you might say that," Monroe admitted egotistically, chuckling at Charlie's demonstrative infatuation as she punished him by pressing her lower body upward into his own, making him downright growl as he kissed her mouth hungrily.

"Shut up," Charlie laughed gently, the words coming out like a plea for some reason.

"Your wish is my command, Charlotte," Bass said quietly, pressing her wrists into the mattress. She fell blissfully over the precipice of their shared needs, letting him take her over as much as she possessed him now, entirely, eternally, irrevocably and irrefutably.

Charlie awoke from a deep slumber some time later to find the space beside her empty and the front door ever so slightly ajar, Monroe's way of letting her know he'd just stepped onto the porch for some fresh air. As painful as it was to be apart from him at all now, and indeed it made her wonder how she had ever managed it, Charlie knew he would always be there for her, waiting.

She found her saddle bag on the floor by the fire and slipped into her normal attire, the soft, faded lavender tank top and well-worn brown pants immeasurably soothing after the fussy attire she'd worn earlier. Shrugging into Monroe's coat, which was basically hers now after all, and snagging a pair of oversized socks from his nearly empty chest of drawers, she followed him outside.

Bass stood leaning against the front railing, wearing just his jeans and boots, staring out into the distance pensively.

"Aren't you cold?" Charlie asked, coming up from behind to wrap her arms around his waist. She pressed her head to his back.

He pulled her to his side and placed his arm around her shoulders. "I'm not sure I'll ever feel cold again."

"What are you thinking about?" She had to know.

"You," Bass said, tipping her chin up and regarding her with the deepest seriousness.

"Oh, really?" Charlie teased, not fully able to put enough humor into her voice to diffuse his intensity. She felt the weight of what they'd just done and how it would change their lives.

"You're beautiful," Monroe murmured, running his hand through her hair, winding the strands around his fingers in another motion that was becoming habitual.

"Hmm, I don't know," Charlie demurred, "Maybe I should get a haircut. Try a shorter look. What do you think?"

"No," Bass retorted, his quick answer mirroring her own earlier debunking of his joke about getting rid of his beard. "Never."

"It's a deal," Charlie grinned. Her face reverted to solemnity as she felt his body tense beside her.

"You can't relax," she observed with concern and confusion.

"I don't know _how _to relax," Monroe admitted, facing her and stroking her cheek with one thumb. "I never have. I think that's my whole problem."

"Something is bothering you...about us," Charlie determined, searching his face for answers.

"It's just..." Bass trailed off, conflicted and uneasy. "I don't deserve you. One day you're going to remember that, and I don't know what I'll do. I'd go out of my mind, Charlie." He paced to the opposite side of the porch, grabbing the rail again and boring his eyes into the dark, unfathomable horizon.

"I love you," Charlie reminded him quietly, following him and hoisting herself to sit beside him, positioning herself so that he couldn't escape her head-on gaze. "That's never going to change. Haven't I made that clear enough? Okay, so you've got some work to do. You won't be alone."

"I've got a_ lot_ of work to do, Charlie," Bass acknowledged heavily. "The only people who don't hate me, don't know me, and there's a good reason for that."

"You're preaching to the choir on that one, Monroe," Charlie said. "I practically wrote the book on resenting everything about you. But it didn't get me anywhere. I'm giving it up. You can show the others what you've shown me. Just don't go looking for any free passes. It's going to be hard."

"You don't hate me anymore?" Bass asked, avoiding her eyes, guilt and regret etched across his face, mixed with a flash of something Charlie thought she'd never glimpse in him: self-loathing.

"I don't think I've really hated you since I fell in love with you," Charlie admitted, pulling one knee to her chest and resting her head against it ponderously.

"You sure kept up the pretense well," Monroe said, swallowing back what looked suspiciously like an actual sob.

"Come here," Charlie demanded, rubbing his arms and staring up into his still-averted eyes. "That's all it was. An act. A well-founded act, but a lie anyway."

"If I was really able to change for the better, I'd leave you. I wouldn't ruin your life by destroying your relationships with everyone else you love. But I can't make myself-" he cut off, choked by emotion.

"I wouldn't let you do that," Charlie said authoritatively.

"Okay, then," Monroe agreed, nodding hard and raising his head to look at her again. She could see still-developing bruising and a faint line of residual blood from where Miles had struck him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," Charlie allowed cautiously, feeling the self-conscious energy shift back into herself. They were each at their utmost level of vulnerability tonight.

"Why did you let me call you Charlotte?"

Charlie blushed furiously, realizing that this was actually one of the most intimate questions he could have asked her, so intertwined was it with her deepest, most secret inner self.

"Because nobody else does," Charlie confessed, letting herself look at him fully, honest and exposed. "And I loved it from the first time you said it."

"I love you, Charlotte," Monroe said in a low, emphatic way that sent shivers up and down her spine.

"Come back inside," Charlie beckoned, sliding down from the railing and taking him by the hand.

Despite the immense world of problems that lay in their future, they would take those challenges on unflinchingly, side by side, united, inseparable to the end. Charlie felt that in her whole sad, yearning, crazy life she'd never known such contentment as she found in that realization. And as Monroe trailed her back inside, sitting beside her in the dwindling, gentle firelight, Charlie couldn't ask for more.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Charlie crossed her arms, glaring at her mother, who was ignoring her. Again. It had been this way for days. Charlie talked and Rachel communicated her refusal to accept her daughter's relationship with Monroe by maintaining a steely silence. Miles had "translated," informing Charlie that Rachel would not speak to her until she broke it off with Bass. By this point, Charlie was past the sadness of disappointing and hurting her mother. Now she was just getting downright mad.

"I've told you how I feel and why a million times now. And you're not going to acknowledge me, standing here, trying to get you to understand. I love you, Mom. Can you please just make an effort here?"

Charlie's words only made Rachel smile sarcastically, her own brand of hurt anger flashing in her eyes. She continued to go about clearing away food in the kitchen as if she were alone.

It didn't matter how Charlie went about trying to reason with her mother. Tearful confessions of love for Monroe and how much he meant to her (and frankly, the tears, which she tried her best to swallow back and conceal, embarrassed her). How much better and stronger and braver she and Monroe were together. Things she hadn't told anyone else but Bass because they cut so close to her core.

She'd pointed out that Danny had been a soldier in a war, one who had known what he was getting himself into, the risks. Yes, Monroe was on the wrong side of that war. But he couldn't be held personally responsible for Danny's death. And as for Ben's, that was on Tom Neville. Silence, silence, silence. Rachel placed no faith in Charlie's words and showed them no respect. She persisted in despising Bass, blaming him for everything bad that had happened to their family, and thinking that this latest twist, his involvement with Charlie, was the latest manifestation of that pestilence.

Charlie refused to allow her mother to let her go over this, and she wasn't going to back down from standing by Monroe, either. Rock and a hard place? As Bass would say, for them, this was just another day.

"You know what the worst part is?" Charlie asked, following her mother outside and stalking her with words while Rachel took the dry laundry down from the line. "You're such a hypocrite. You wanna talk about loving someone you're not supposed to love, in terrible circumstances, and being judged for it but not caring because you know it's right? Seriously, Mom? _Explain Miles_."

This comparison between Charlie's love for Bass and Rachel's love for Miles provoked no response from Rachel, but Miles himself stepped onto the porch and shook his head. "Leave me out of it."

"You think you can just sidestep this whole dilemma like it's not there? What happened to your plan to run Monroe out of town, anyway?" Charlie asked with a smirk, placing her hands on her hips as she regarded her uncle.

"Well, he was right about one thing," Miles explained. "We _do _need him to beat the Patriots." Charlie's face lit up at the implication that he appreciated Bass a little. It was a start. Noticing the change in her expression, that indication of hope in her previously worn, haunted features, Miles quickly added, "But that's the _only_ reason. You're not getting my seal of approval on this..." he swiveled his hand from side to side crookedly. "...'romance'..._thing_."

"_Air-quote_s, Miles?" Charlie quipped. "Really?" She turned to go, satisfied at least in making some minuscule dent in her family's arguments against Monroe. As for Gene, he'd been hiding behind quietly dignified disapproval, speaking minimally to Charlie though not freezing her out altogether. Eventually, she'd get through to all three of them. She had to.

As Charlie slid a foot into her stirrup and began to hoist herself onto her horse, she caught sight of a cloud of dust on the horizon that looked downright suspicious. "Mom. Miles." They came to stand beside her, squinting into the distance, noticing the same thing she did.

A large group of Patriots was headed straight for them.

"Well, this can't be good," Miles gulped, expressing the trio's shared thoughts eloquently.

"Hey, guys," Monroe said, striding up behind them and stopping beside Charlie. He'd rode in from the opposite direction to meet up with them. "Weren't you going to invite me to the party?"

**To be continued in the upcoming sequel to this story...**


End file.
